


Dreams are sweet until they're not

by KyraKuru



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Angst, Book Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide, ask to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyraKuru/pseuds/KyraKuru
Summary: Hélène used to believe that people could change, that those who she loved would never hate her, leave her, kill her inside, that those she didn’t couldn’t hurt her, or at least they’d feel remorse, that love ever turned out alright. She used to be so naïve.Hélène's thoughts throughout her life





	1. Anatole

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to reflect Hélène’s thoughts, I do not think like this and I don’t agree with everything I write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for incest and dubious consent.

Hélène used to believe that people could change, that those who she loved would never hate her, leave her, kill her inside, that those she didn’t couldn’t hurt her, or at least they’d feel remorse, that love ever turned out alright. She used to be so naïve. Nothing worked out that way in real life. She learned to crush her sentimental feelings, to show them was to show weakness and she couldn’t be trusted to not show them. She had become hardened over the years, that optimistic little girl who’d talked about true love was dead now. She never showed her true feelings to anyone, not even her little brother could see through her mask. She’d always tell people how beautiful they looked in their outfits, how much they meant to her, how she loved them, she was lying. 

When she was little she loved her little brother Anatole, as he was the only one who would give her comfort and relief from whatever hurt her. He was always there for her, he always knew how to calm her down, soothe her wounds, and she would do the same for him. One day Anatole had gotten in a fight and she felt guilty for not knowing, she told him that she’d always be there if he got hurt after that, and that she’d never forgive herself if she wasn’t. They only became closer over the years until one day Vasili caught them in bed together and sent Anatole away to become a soldier. He had sent him to die. She cried and told him not to go, that she would come with him. He told her that she couldn’t and she should be glad, before he left he told her to just stay strong, to not let anyone hurt her. 

When her father told her that she was to marry Pierre, she accepted. She was expected to be an obedient wife to someone at some point so that her father could enjoy the wealth her marriage brought him. He wouldn’t be the worst of husbands either, he was weak willed, clumsy, awkward, she’d heard all about it from Anatole. She’d seen the way he looked at her, he wanted her, he would trip over himself when she spoke to him, seemingly too embarrassed to do anything. It didn’t matter how she felt about him, all that mattered was his naïvete and newfound wealth. Once her father realized that he would never propose on his own, he told her of his plan and she complied. Throughout the marriage ceremony, Pierre looked at her with a kind of blind happiness that she hated, he didn’t deserve to be this happy she thought, he didn’t deserve anything he had. But on the outside she looked just as happy, happy to be his wife, happy to be Countess Bezukhova. 

On their wedding night she pretended it was her first time, as if she’d never desired a way to break herself further, to escape from her reality. He was awkward as she’d already known, she never knew how much pain that could cause her though. He clearly had no experience as he brought her through waves of awful pain. She never let it show though, there wasn’t a single crack in her mask. She pretended to be as happy as him until he finished, softly whispering how much he loved her, his wife. She said she loved him too, let him pull her close and fall asleep. She didn’t sleep, not feeling her silent tears as she lay there. If she’d known, she would have stopped them as she had learned to do. She let her mind take over, the thoughts she’d repressed coming back. 

Thoughts ran through her head, questioning if this was all she was meant to be, all she was meant to do, how people could stand to be happy like this. She hated him, his happiness in particular, she wished he was dead, that she was dead. Even as she let these thoughts in, she never dared to think about what it might have been like if things were different. When dawn came, Hélène’s face was dry and she had come to terms with what the rest of her life would entail. She had to pretend to love him, pretend to enjoy their sex, and never be able to leave him. When her husband awoke, he told her again of his love with a smile of genuine happiness on his face. That was how she knew that she could never let her emotions overwhelm her again. If she did, they’d consume her and she’d be left with nothing but her own hatred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to update this every week, let me know what you think.


	2. Dolokhov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abuse, self harm, and attempted suicide.

Months passed and Pierre was as happy as ever, off traveling or something. Hélène had not felt emotions other than her ever present hatred for him since that night until he finally went away. Left without that, she became overwhelmed by her internal pain, she would rather feel the physical pain. She sought out another of her brother’s drinking companions by the name of Fyodor so that she could at feel something besides her thoughts. She had never loved him and he had never loved her, both of them knew that such feelings were childish and stupid. All he cared about was her body and it showed as he took for himself with no care for her pleasure, she didn’t care as the pain he caused her let her escape from the pain of repressing her emotions which was much worse. When they lay together, she hated her husband more than ever before. Fyodor wasn’t hopelessly optimistic like Pierre and he didn’t pretend he cared about anyone other than himself. He was the closest thing she had to someone she cared about, someone she could rely on to hurt her, break her, and not care about her. 

Hélène didn’t use to hate Fyodor, but after his confidence got the best of him, that was all she felt for him. He would always make fun of Pierre, joke about screwing his wife, even at formal dinners. Pierre started to lose his happiness, he no longer was the endless optimist he used to be. One night, his self hatred overwhelmed him to the point that he challenged Fyodor to a duel. Thinking him to be a fool for challenging an experienced marksman, he accepted. It was only when Pierre hit his mark, Fyodor’s blood staining the snow, hands shaking so much they missed the man standing with arms spread, ready to die, that he realized that he too was mortal. 

When Pierre came home that night, he yelled at Hélène and called her things he never would have just a few months ago. She asked him for the two of them to separate, so that she would never see him again. His reaction was to attempt to kill her with a table, she screamed and ran out of the room. She had broken and she could never forgive herself for it. He later agreed to do it, he told her that he’d give her money, and then leave the next day. Seeing how broken he’d become gave her satisfaction, and she smiled her first smile of genuine happiness in years. Now that he was gone, she continued having affairs, sometimes letting them hurt her, and sometimes being the one to hurt them. However, she would never sleep with Fyodor again, as he disgusted her. 

Years passed and she continued like this until one day Anatole returned. She learned that he’d never actually fought as he hadn’t been needed. Seeing him again reminded her why she needed to keep up her mask. He seemed to notice that something was wrong and asked her what it was, she could never hide everything from him. She told him that she didn’t like her husband, that he may have been a weak willed coward, but that all changed when he was drunk. She hated what he’d do, but prefered it to when he had been disgustingly happy. She never told her brother about how she’d hurt herself with sex and blades, never told him how empty she was. If she did, she wouldn’t be being strong, and that was what she’d promised him. He stayed at her estate, but they were never together very often as she didn’t want him to go again, it would break her to know he might die.


	3. Natasha

When Hélène saw little Natasha Rostova at the opera, she saw innocence and naïvety similar to how she had been when she was younger. She knew that she was the girl her brother had been obsessed with, and the one who Pierre spoke about fondly. She wanted to break the girl, shatter her until there was nothing left for anyone, yet she also wanted to kiss her, break her away from her no doubt boring and awful betrothed, take her away from where people could hurt her. She figured she’d just see how the young Countess felt about her. After the first act, she invited her into her box. Marya Dmitrievna was with her and glared at her, she knew how the fearsome dragon felt about her, she seemed to let her go however. Natasha looked delighted to be with her, blushing as Hélène complimented her. She continued to happily engage in conversation until the doors to the box opened and Anatole made his entrance. She went silent and looked at him in awe, no doubt she’d forsake her betrothed in a heartbeat for him. In that moment, Hélène made up her mind, she’d let Anatole have the girl as long as she had some fun with her, she knew about his marriage and knew that this would destroy the girl.

After talking for awhile with Natasha, Anatole told Hélène to invite the girl to the house. She called on the Rostovs the night after the opera, knowing that Marya had left the house earlier that day. She came into the room after putting on her most delighted smile, and sensing Natasha’s vulnerability in only her undergarments, she flattered her immensely and asked her and the other Rostovs to come to hear Mademoiselle Georges recite. She happily agreed after asking her father. He replied to say that they’d all come. She said how delightful that’d be and left. She knew that Natasha thought she was pretty, that she admired her, but it just made her want to break the girl more. 

At Hélène’s house, Natasha came and talked with Anatole, eventually running off with him into a closet. This girl would certainly forget about her betrothed for him. Hélène knew how her brother was, how he’d take a girl away with him to some remote location for a bit, then return at separate times, claiming that nothing had happened. It was only a matter of time with this one, she however belonged to a well recognised family and it would cause a scandal if anything happened. It wouldn’t be long until all that was left of this girl was broken shards who thought that people would love them, and realized that they were mistaken. 

Hélène knew it was time when Anatole asked her for 10,000 rubles. It was all her husband’s so what did she care if she gave some away to her brother so that he’d ruin a girl. She heard later about what had happened, how it had failed. She had caused her brother to get hurt again, it no longer mattered what became of the little Rostov girl, all that mattered was that she was responsible for his pain, she had done again what she’d promised not to. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t alright, although that applied to her too. Trying to ruin a young girl to bring herself happiness was truly despicable and she realized that, but Anatole didn’t deserve to get hurt. While she comforted Anatole, telling him that he’d be okay, Pierre walked through the door. He yelled at her to go away, that he hated her and everything she’d done. Then he dragged Anatole until the adjacent room. Anatole’s expression told her not to come after him. When he came out he looked terrified. She later found out that he’d been forced to leave Moscow, all because of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might be a little delayed.


	4. Hélène

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for death, medication, pregnancy, and suicide

Hélène always stayed the same outward to everyone. Anatole had gone to war, sent her a letter saying that he’d been dispatched. He was gone from her now, she had to stop thinking of him. His face forever in her head, she threw herself through what she had to do. Everyone said to her what a lovely woman she was, how beautiful, how clever. She smiled politely, complimented them back, never letting her mask break. She’d started relations with two other men, promised them both marriage, and all of society gossiped about which it would be. Pierre would surely grant her a divorce, he loved her too much to refuse her happiness. Of course he did, he was captivated by her. Even if he didn’t, and all else failed, he would never tell of what they’d done -- or rather, hadn't. Still, she knew that if society ever got a hint of what had happened, she would be outcast immediately. 

She couldn’t stop thinking of him. When she needed strength, he was there with her. But he wasn’t and she needed to realize that. He could stay alive, this was her brother, and he was strong. So when she began taking the medicine, it was him who gave her the strength to carry on. She was out of the public eye but she knew they talked about her. She knew most everyone said it was a blood disease, she knew that not all of them believed it. She carried on like this for a bit, still calm and stable minded outwardly. At least until a letter came one day. She received the letter thinking that it bore news of her brother’s return from combat, so that she could see him again. It didn’t. It informed her of his death. 

For a few days she continued as normal. The letter had never come and if it had, it was wrong. Pierre was out at war too and if someone had informed her of his death, she’d have believed it in a heartbeat. A weak man such as him was never suited to the battlefield in the first place. Anatole wasn’t either though, strong in his own way, but she doubted he was capable of killing someone. She still blocked that from her mind, nothing was wrong. Those attending to her noticed a definitive change in how she acted, instead of her usual smile, this one seemed forced and broken. But they still thought she was capable of handling herself, as no one but herself had seen the letter, so she usually took her medicine and went through the rest of her day alone. 

She realized that what had happened had happened. There was nothing that could have been done. Except there was, except this was her fault in the first place. If she hadn’t been so intent on ruining that girl, if she hadn’t let herself do that. He’d be with her right now. He’d comfort her. He’d be alive. And when it came time for her to take what she’d been prescribed, she brought herself to where Anatole had always stayed, and took all for the next week. Before taking it, she thought of him. When she was found in the morning, there was nothing that could have been done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this all the way through! Contact me on tumblr at @fearless-and-gay if you want.


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